Procrastination? Lack of foresight? Extreme sloppiness?
Even so, his inaction is a mystery to me.
“You promised not to tell anyone,” Millie reminds me, searching my face.
“I did, and I always keep my word.”
She narrows her eyes. “You could use it as leverage. You and I are competing for the duchy.”
“We are,” I admit.
She stares me in the eye as if challenging me to prove my good faith.
Oh, what the hell.
“I fight fair,” I say. “Which is why I’m going to tell you something about me that no one knows. And you’ll have the option of using it against me, if you choose.”
Her brow arches.
I exhale. “I’m on the autism spectrum. Mild Asperger’s. I was diagnosed as a child.”
Millie blinks. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“You don’t seem…” She scrunches up her face, looking for the right word. “I mean?—”
“Different?”
She nods vigorously.
“That’s because I’ve learned to mask it well,” I explain.
She squints at me. “But you’re, like, super smart.”
“That’s a stereotype. But thanks.”
She falls silent for a moment, before whispering, “So you’re a freak, too, huh?”
I smile. “Apparently.”
There’s a shift. I can feel it, subtle but seismic.
Millie heaves herself up, limps over and extends her hand.
“I swear,” she says, “on my dad’s and my brother’s graves, I’ll never tell. And I’ll never use it against you.”
I take her hand and grip it firmly. “Same. I swear on my father’s grave.”
We hold the shake for a solemn second before I let go.
She cocks her head, recovering her aplomb. “Well, that got weirdly intense.”
“You’re a Castellane,” I say. “Weird is the norm, and intense is the baseline.”
She grins but catches herself. “Don’t get any ideas, OK? You’re not my favorite uncle or anything.”
“Noted. I hope one day I’ll earn that title.”
